One Sue to Rule Them All
by Bronze Cat
Summary: The Council of Elrond is interrupted by a most unwelcome visitor and not even Gandalf and Elrond can fight off her powers. She is the deadly, the terrible, Mary Sue. Now a multi-chapter featuring the Fabulous Saruman, Orcs who shimmy, as many coconuts as you could want and the one and only Julian. And poor Sauron isn't exactly feeling himself either...
1. It's Even Got Elrond!

**_One Sue to rule them all  
One Sue to find them  
One Sue to bring them all  
And in Arda's darkness, bind them_**

**Yes, this is a Sue parody. I find it strangely soothing to sit down and write a truly terrible Mary Sue deliberately. Nearly everybody is OOC, Gandalf only because I doubt the words frigging, fuck and bugger are usually in his vocabulary. Yes, this fic contains all three. Albeit sparingly, Gandalf is not effing and blinding his way through it. Please enjoy reading it, it was written to entertain not irritate, the only exception being the Sue. I only own the Sue. Everything else belongs to the Tolkien estate and I mean no offence at all to the works of the Professor.  
**

* * *

The Grey Pilgrim, Olórin, Mithrandir, Gandalf, for he had many names, had never needed a pipe more. He wrapped himself firmly in his cloak and slid down in his chair. Unbelievable. No matter how many times they cleansed Arda of this vile plague, it always managed to re-spawn.

"Gandalf, are you alright?" his companion next to him said. He turned in his seat. The Hobbit next to him was incredibly cute, with large and amazingly bright blue eyes and masses of dark curls. Unfortunately, this was not his usual appearance.

"Yes Frodo, my lad. I am merely impatient for this meeting to begin."

"Oh." The Hobbit looked around the Council chamber. "Who is that?" he asked, surreptitiously pointing to a Man directly opposite them. He was grim-faced and so big he appeared to be having difficulty sitting in the seat. An elleth was moving gracefully around the group distributing drinks but he waved her away with a clearly audible "Bloody women. Can't do anything right." Gandalf winced.

"That would be Boromir, a Man from Gondor," he said with false cheeriness. He met Aragorn's plaintive gaze. Aragorn mouthed a question and Gandalf nodded grimly. The Ranger's face paled and he accepted the drink from the elleth and downed it quickly.

"And, the dwarf there?" Frodo asked. The dwarf in question was barely unable to see out from his protruding eyebrows and thick beard. He had readily accepted the elleth's drink and the remains were still in his beard as was, it would appear, all of last week's meals. A chicken leg freed itself from its hairy nest and went bouncing across the flagstones.

"That is Gimli," Gandalf said. "His father was a companion of Bilbo on the Quest for the Lonely Mountain." He shut his eyes and offered up a silent scream of a prayer to the Valar. Please, oh please, don't ask about-

"And the elf?"

Bother. Gandalf opened his eyes and looked at the offending creature. It was sitting, a hand resting on its alabaster cheek, its platinum blonde hair fluttering in a non-existent breeze, its icy bambi-like blue eyes staring into the distance. It had only sighed wearily when the elleth offered a drink, causing the latter to collapse into a deep swoon that had taken Gandalf twenty frigging minutes to revive her from.

"That," Gandalf said grimly, "was once known as Legolas. It, I mean he, now prefers the name _Leggy._"

Elrond slowly walked into the Council chamber. "Have you seen it?" he hissed at Gandalf.

"No, but it's obviously somewhere in Imladris. Look at the four here it has affected!" Gandalf replied grimly. Elrond looked around and his eyes widened in horror when he saw Leggy.

"Thranduil is going to kill me," he muttered. "I've got Elladan and Elrohir looking for it but I think it might evade even them. It's a powerful one."

"Best get started and hope for the best," Gandalf muttered. Elrond nodded and strode for his seat. He settled his features into a suitable expression and then peeked at the script badly hidden in the folds of his robes.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," he read. "You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom _dramatic-pause-look-around-room-at-everybody _bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

As Frodo stood, one little hand buried in his pocket, the doors flew open and another elleth flew in. Her waist length hair was of softest wilver, her eyes brightest urple, shining like two beautiful jewels in her lovely face. Her body was slim and clad in a long, flowing, and quite inappropriate for doing anything but sitting around in white dress, a quiver and bow over one shoulder.

"Oh my goodness!" the elleth gasped, placing a perfectly manicured hand on her chest. "I thought I'd missed y'all!"

Elrond appeared to sag noticeably as she spoke. His sons had failed. They were most likely lying in some garden of Imladris muttering to themselves about how lovely she was and how cursed they were never to know her affection. Aragorn was trying his best to look inconspicuous, difficult in a room with only twenty or so people. He had been subject to too many amorous advances by her kind, much to the growing annoyance of Arwen, and worse, every now and then one would pop up declaring to be a Ranger. Rangers weren't Elves, they were Dúnedain!

Leggy seemed to be the only one happy to see her. He sat up a little straighter and, if possible, his eyes became wider and more adoring.

"Can we help you, young lady?" Elrond said through gritted teeth.

"Oh Ada, don't you recognise your own daughter?" she chirruped. "I'm Arwen's younger sister Galabríawenúthien! You sent me to Lothlórien for my protection when I was younger but now I've returned to aid in the fight for Middle Earth!" She moved forward and sat in a chair that had magically sprung into existence next to Glorfindel.

"Not another daughter one_,_" Elrond said exasperatedly. Galabríawenúthien smiled at Leggy, who returned her gaze with so much love that Glorfindel began to shift his chair sideways lest he be caught in the beam of affection.

"And dearest Leggy was kind enough to save me from a band of vicious orcs in the Misty Mountains," Galabríawenúthien added. Aragorn relaxed. She wasn't after him.

Leggy gave a sigh of longing. Elrond turned on him in an instant. "_It is a time of war, Elves refrain from having children during war, therefore no hanky-panky in my house, mate!_" he snarled and then fell heavily against his chair. Her aura was affecting him. Even now he could feel his mind becoming fuzzier and his robe becoming more flouncy and stupid. He was Elrond Half-elven, Guardian of one of the Three and Master of the Last Homely House; he would never use such a term as hanky-panky! He was unsure as to what it even meant! Something to do with handkerchiefs possibly?

Galabríawenúthien stretched out a tender hand to Elrond. "Fear not Ada," she said passionately, "for I am loyal to my beloved Haldir and am Not That Type of Girl!"

Elrond nodded weakly.

"Perhaps we should move on," Gandalf said hastily. "Ring, Frodo!" he said, hoisting the Hobbit up by his braces and shoving him towards the plinth in the centre of the chamber.

This was bad. Gandalf thought about the possible implications she would have upon the story. He was the only one, possibly in the whole of Arda, aware that this was indeed a story. Elrond and Aragorn just knew that these strange creatures occasionally popped up but Gandalf knew that they were the product of young people, somewhere, attempting to drop fresh faces into their world. Occasionally they met some good ones. More often than not, they were like this monstrosity. The first sign was when a script magically festooned itself upon them and if they did not follow the words upon it then they all had a feeling that a lightning bolt would drop out of the sky and smite them where they stood. The second was when the other characters started to change, both emotionally and physically. He started to list what Galabríawenúthien could get up to.

_Thinks it's Elrond's daughter, probably a tenth walker, will seek solace in Leggy's arms after Boromir is a sexist pig to her therefore enraging her haughty but beautiful lover Haldir when they pass through Lórien, will sob over Haldir's body after Helm's Deep and refuse to have anything to do with Leggy until a few days later when she is all over him again,_ he thought. _Oh, and she will probably kill the Balrog, Saruman and the Witch-King and then jog quickly into Mordor to throw the Ring into Mount Doom for Frodo. It's a bad one alright- oh by the Valar, it's even got Elrond!_

In the past few minutes, Elrond's expression had become decidedly more serene, as if he had smoked an entire barrel of pipe-weed. His circlet had inexplicably turned into a massive crown and his robe was no longer a fine but simple garment but a great river of material that would swamp even the fattest of dwarves or hobbits.

"The Ring must by destroyed in the fiery pit from whence it came and there is only one amongst us worthy to carry it," he said in a mystical voice of a pitch usually reserved for young boys or eunuchs. "My daughter, Galabríawenúthien."

As the elleth clasped her hands to her mouth, a small modest blush blossoming across her high cheekbones, and Leggy cheered his approval, both Boromir and Gandalf expressed their displeasure.

"You would entrust this precious thing to a female? Nay, they are weak and ditzy creatures! Give this perilous quest to a Man!" Boromir said pompously. Gandalf's remark was a lot shorter.

"Oh, fuck no!"

"Language, Mithrandir, my delicate ears can only take so much," Galabríawenúthien simpered. Gandalf repressed the urge to give the elleth an almighty thwack around the head with his staff. Instead he turned to Frodo with an desperate smile on his face.

"Frodo! Do you have any urge to carry the Ring? Any little whim?"

"Oh, no!" Frodo said, blinking his blue eyes with shock. "Lady Galabríawenúthien shall do a much better job than me!"

"It shall be a heavy burden indeed, but I shall try my very hardest!" Galabríawenúthien said and stood to collect the Ring.

"_No!_" Gandalf shouted, springing to his feet. Silence fell in the chamber. "It's just, it would be a terrible shame if one so fair and wise as the Lady Galabríawenúthien fell under the sway of the Ring's power," he said carefully. Actually he wanted her to do anything but get her perfectly manicured mitts on it.

"I can handle it, you stupid old man!" she shrieked, stamping a high heel-clad foot. Luckily Elrond was shaking his head.

"Trust Mithrandir, my little star," he said soothingly in his strange new voice. "I have already lost your Nana, I am losing your sister to that Ranger but I can't lose you."

"Yes, I wish I could have known her. It was so sad that she passed away bringing me into this world," Galabríawenúthien said, her urple eyes filling with tears.

Gandalf could have sworn he heard Celebrían's scream of outrage from the Undying Lands even here.

"I'll do it!" Frodo said, leaping up. "I'm expendable!"

"My dear Hobbit, you are anything but expendable," Gandalf started to say but Elrond was nodding enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes, you can take it!" he said cheerfully and then waved a hand at Gandalf. "Mithrandir, be a dear and make sure he doesn't do anything wrong. Go through Moria, befriend Gollum, get captured by Shelob. All that jazz."

"I'm coming too! I can protect him!" Aragorn said, exchanging a look with Gandalf. Thankfully, Galabríawenúthien's powers had not affected him yet.

"I'm coming too," Boromir growled, attempting to free himself from his chair. Gimli stood up and crossed to the small group, leaving a trail of food from his beard behind him.

"Mmm mmmin ooh," he said and brandished an axe.

"I'm coming too! I, of course, shall do anything to overthrow Sauron!" Galabríawenúthien declared. Gandalf rolled his eyes. Great, any chance of returning to normality had, for now, been lost.

"I'm coming too!" Leggy said, springing daintily to his feet. He looked shyly at Galabríawenúthien who gave him a wide beam of a smile back.

"Excellent!" Elrond said, looking round at them. "We just need a cook and a couple of comic reliefs we're sorted!"

There was a loud wheezing noise and what was left of poor Samwise Gamgee staggered in. He was immensely fat, even for a hobbit, with a great ruddy face that was an interesting purple colour presently. He held up a finger but had to bend over, sucking in great lungfuls of air. It was pitiful to watch for Gandalf, who genuinely liked the real Sam. The young hobbit was so loyal to Frodo, it was touching. And let's face it; at the end Frodo got the glory, Sam got the girl.

"I'm... in..." Sam eventually gasped and waddled over to join them.

"As are we!" Merry called, turning cartwheels down a set of stairs with Pippin. Gandalf stared at them. The end of their noses were swollen and coloured red.

"Are your noses alright?" Aragorn asked, staring at them in horror.

"What are you talking about?" Pippin said. "Our noses look like they always do." He looked at Merry and they simultaneously burst out laughing.

"And we have a cook and two comic reliefs!" Elrond said happily getting to his feet. He gazed at them, smiling serenely. "Ten," he said. "Good number."

_No, nine is better,_ Gandalf thought furiously, trying to project his thoughts at Elrond in case Galabríawenúthien had somehow given him telepathic powers. _Nine Walkers for the Nine Nazgul._

Elrond's telepathy failed to manifest itself.

"Ten Walkers! Nine for the Nazgul and our own Mithrandir, a Maia to stand against Sauron! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" he announced.

As Leggy and Galabríawenúthien cheered and clung to each other in a show of not-quite-platonic companionship and orchestral music swelled inexplicably from some unknown orifice, the Grey Pilgrim, Olórin, Mithrandir, Gandalf, for he had many names, had only one thing to say on the matter.

"Oh bugger."

* * *

***Ducks fuselage of pointy objects being thrown* Yes, yes! I know! I don't really think that Frodo is expendable or Boromir is a sexist pig. I mean look at Sam in this! Sam is one of my favourite characters! Why would I want to seriously do this to him? *Hugs real Sam tightly***

**Wilver and Urple belong to the HFA and OFUM respectively.  
**

**I'm leaving it open as a WIP in case people like it and I can be bothered writing another chapter with Galabríawenúthien. Cookies to those who can work out who her name is derived from. **

**"Not that difficult, it's pretty obvious if you ask me."  
**

**Shut up Sam.  
**


	2. Argh Argh Aaaaah!

**Guess what, I managed to write another part! Mainly due to the fact that I am in a shockingly good mood because I found out that my favourite book (Neverwhere by Neil Gaimen, if you are interested) is being made into a radio play. So, thanks to this news I was able to stomach writing another chapter.**

**I own NOTHING! Zip zada zilch! None of the character, none of the places, none of the, uh, lyrics. They all belong to their respective owners. **

**Cookies in the last chapter went to Meepalicious, Crookneck, Certh and K.J. Moon. Vana Jedi can have one too for getting part of it right. :)  
**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

The Fellowship was preparing to depart. Gandalf puffed on his pipe, blowing out clouds of smoke in quick succession to try to calm his nerves.

"What do you suggest we do?" Aragorn asked. They both looked over to Leggy and Galabríawenúthien. The pair had finished comparing bows and had moved on to checking each other's luxuriant manes for split ends.

"Lose her as soon as possible," the Wizard replied grimly. "If we try to kill her then we may find ourselves outnumbered."

"Mithrandir," a cool voice behind them said. They turned to see Glorfindel, dressed in travelling clothes.

"Ah, excellent. Glorfindel, ride with all haste to Isengard," Gandalf said. Aragorn and Glorfindel stared at him in horror. "I know it would appear that Saruman has turned against us," Gandalf said quickly, "but he is very learned and we shall need his powers, the powers of all the Wizards, if we are to stand against _her_."

The three turned to look at Galabríawenúthien. She flipped her wilver hair and the resultant flash in the morning sunlight blinded some poor ellon who happened to be passing. He instantly collapsed face first onto the flagstones with a sickening crunch and began to mumble to himself.

"May the Valar grant us the strength and wisdom to defeat her," Glorfindel murmured.

* * *

"Dearest Fellowship, the blessings of all the Free Peoples go with you on this most perilous of quests," Elrond said dreamily. "May you safely reach your journey's end, with or without the hobbit. He is expendable after all."

"And I don't know the way!" Frodo added enthusiastically. Elrond gave a silvery laugh that made the hairs rise on the back of Gandalf's neck.

"Oh, how he would be lost without the nine of you!" he said. _Eight, _Gandalf thought, i_t should be eight!_

"Or possibly eight," Elrond continued and Gandalf's heart leapt. This was it, Elrond's mind was returning! They were saved.

All hopes were dashed as Elrond pointed languidly at Sam and announced "I doubt the fat one could do much."

"Do not fear Ada, I shall protect the Ring-bearer with my incredible archery skills!" Galabríawenúthien trilled. She flipped her hair again and several ellyn in the crowd were felled like trees in a forest. Leggy reached out and stroked her hair.

"You are so pretty," he sighed.

"So are you," she replied, giving him her brightest smile. There was a crash as several more ellyn folded up.

"No," he said, taking her by the shoulders and staring into her urple eyes, "you really are beautiful..."

Fearing the worst, Gandalf cleared his throat. "We should be going," he said with false cheeriness and prodded Frodo in the back with his staff. The hobbit obediently trotted forward but immediately froze a few steps outside the gate of Imladris.

"What now?!" Gandalf barked. Frodo looked carefully to his left and then his right, where two paths curved off in either direction. The young hobbit's bottom lip began to tremble and then he threw back his head and started to howl.

"Mr Gandalf, I don't know the way to gooooooooooooooooooooooo!" he wailed.

"Left," Gandalf said promptly.

"Right," Galabríawenúthien said at the same time. Gandalf turned and met Galabríawenúthien's urple gaze with narrowed eyes.

"What makes you say right, my lady?" he asked in the honeyed tones of false courtesy.

"The sun rises in the East," she answered. The Fellowship looked to their right and saw the newly risen sun peeking over the trees. "If we want to go to Mordor, we must go East," Galabríawenúthien added helpfully.

"Indeed we must but that path does not lead anywhere," Gandalf replied. "The one to the left curves around again; to head East, we must start West."

Galabríawenúthien smiled thinly. "Mithrandir, Imladris is my home. I know it incredibly well. We go right."

"My lady, we are no longer in Imladris, we are one step outside of it. I know nearly every road, track and path in Arda and I assure you, we go _left._ And forgive me, my lady, but I thought you were raised in Lórien?"

"I still know my birthplace," Galabríawenúthien said sweetly. "Enough talk, let us start to the _right_."

She swept off down the right-hand path; Leggy, Boromir, Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Sam obediently trotting after her like hounds. Frodo was attempting to follow but was only held back by Aragorn's hand on his shoulder.

"Strider, let me go!" the hobbit protested. "We should trust the Lady Galabríawenúthien!"

"Frodo, Rivendell was my home once as well and I trust Gandalf more than Galabríawenúthien," the Ranger said. "Let us wait and we shall see if the right path is the true one to take."

They waited. Eventually Galabríawenúthien came storming back around the corner, the Fellowship meekly following. "To the left then," she snarled and continued up the path. Gandalf chuckled to himself.

"If my Lady is sure then!" he called.

* * *

Glorfindel reined in Asfaloth and stared in horror at the spectacle in front of him. Despite having never visited the place, Galabríawenúthien's powers had seeped into Isengard and the results were truly terrifying to the Elf-lord. He would rather face the Balrog again in Gondolin than ride further into the circle of rocks. The pits and fires of industry that Gandalf had reported upon his escape from the lofty heights of Orthanc had been filled in and re-turfed with glittering emerald grass. The sun shone down upon the tower of black stone in a most unlikely fashion for the time of year.

However, it was the figures moving on the grass that were of most concern to Glorfindel. They appeared to be Orcs, and they sounded like Orcs, and they even smelt like Orcs. However, they were not dressed like Orcs. They were dressed in golden tunics that sparkled in the sunshine like dew upon a leaf.

Also, they were moving in a very strange manner. Glorfindel tried to find a word to describe the motion. Shimmying, possibly?

The figure in front of them, clapped his hands and the Orcs ceased in their shimmying and scurried forward. The figure raised two hands in the air and dropped them rapidly.

Asfaloth reared and pranced wildly as the wall of sound rushed over him and his master. Glorfindel calmed him and dismounted for fear that, for the first time in all their years together, Asfaloth would throw him from the saddle. The Elf-lord left his trembling horse and ventured down into Isengard on foot.

"...Disgraceful, that is what it is!" his keen ears heard as he moved closer. "_How _are we going to be ready in time? Hm? Answer me that? The Dark Lord shall weep,simply _weep_ I say, when he sees you lot gallivanting around on stage. Now let me hear it again."

"_Argh argh aaaaah_!" the Orcs chorused obediently.

"No!" the figure screeched and placed a hand dramatically to his forehead. "_Ah-ah-aaaaah! _The sound should be smooth; no breaks between each syllable and the next!"

An Orc timidly raised a hand. "Yes, Bluk?" the figure snapped.

"There is someone here to see you, your Fabulousness," Bluk said, pointing at Glorfindel. The figure turned and Glorfindel had to rely on all the courage and grace of the Eldar to prevent himself from sprinting back to Imladris, screaming as he went.

The being in front to him was dressed from head-to-toe in a tie-die robe of every colour under the rainbow. His hair was styled into a long fish-tail pleat, topped with a turban made of the same material as the robe. Even the long white beard was pleated, with a pink ribbon tied to the end. The ribbon had small bells on it that made a sound pleasing on the ear as the owner of the beard moved.

"Yais? How may I be of assistance to you, Elf-lord?" he asked, his dark eyes staring into Glorfindel's.

"I was wondering as to where I may find Saruman," Glorfindel replied weakly, dreading the answer.

"My dear ellon, he stands before you!" the person shouted and thrust one hand into the air, the other on his hip. "I am he, the Fabulous Saruman of Many Colours!"

The Orcs all burst into applause.

"No, no, it is too much," Saruman said modestly, flapping his hands at the Orcs.

Glorfindel shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"What are you doing?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I have been charged with composing, choreographing and directing a musical based upon the life and sufferings of our esteemed Dark Lord," Saruman informed him. Behind him, the Orcs were reshuffling.

"_First he was afraid, he was petrified!_" they screeched at pitches that were both horribly off-key and frankly unnatural. Saruman turned and started to make cutting motions but the Orcs were lost, completely in the zone, oblivious to all around them.

"_But then he spent so many nights thinking how they did him wrong,_" they sang, walking towards Saruman and Glorfindel menacingly, "_And he grew strong, and he learned-_"

"Enough!" Saruman thundered and the Orcs fell silent. He glared at them. "That song is sorted! There are others requiring our attention!"

He stopped and cleared his throat then sung in a musical baritone, "_I wore my coat, with golden lining..."_

_"Argh argh aaaaah!" _

"NO!"

Saruman started to scream and stamp his feet, screeching something incomprehensible about timbre and consonance.

Glorfindel backed away slowly. Saruman had fallen prey to Galabríawenúthien and all hope was lost for him. He could only pray that Radagast was his usual self.

* * *

**If I ever meet Christopher Lee - who is one of my favourite actors, I won't deny - I am doomed because I won't be able to get the Fabulous Saruman out of my head. **

**The "You're so pretty, no you're beautiful!" thing actually happened to my friend. A random stranger walked up to her and told her how pretty she was. She didn't react like Galabríawenúthien, she smiled and thanked them and then walked away quickly feeling a bit creeped out.  
**

**The little spiel his Fabulousness makes to the Orcs about how bad they are is almost a direct quote from a teacher of mine from when my school tried to put on _Joseph. _Needless to say, the production didn't go ahead.  
**

**I've also decided to offer something to the readers in each chapter. This chapter, I am thrilled to inform you that the Orcs take requests. Got a favourite showtune or song? Stick it in a review and you may see an Orc pop up and sing it somewhere! :D  
**


	3. Coconut, Anyone?

**AN - I still own nothing that appears in here.**

* * *

"Sam needs another breather!" Frodo shouted up the line.

"Again? It will take us a lifetime at this rate to even cross the mountains!" Boromir bellowed.

"We need to stop for lunch anyway," Gandalf said grumpily. Sam instantly sprung upright from where he had been sprawled wheezing on the path.

"Won't take me long to rustle something up," he said happily and began to pull odds and sods from Bill's pack.

Before long, an entire leg of lamb was turning on a spit roast. Sam had put the finishing touches to the potato salad and coleslaw and was now preparing a dressing to go with the salad. Frodo sat next to his friend.

"You seem to have an awful lot of pots, Sam," he noted. Sam looked around at the stacks of cookware.

"Not really, Mr Frodo. Just the bare necessities. Crepe pan, sauteuse, sautoir, rondeau, roasting tin, steamer, frying pan, wok, bread tin, colander, baking tin, baking tray, cupcake tray-"

"Cupcakes! Sam, when were you expecting to make cupcakes?" Aragorn couldn't help but ask. Sam blushed heavily.

"In case it were someone's birthday. Mr Pippin is very partial to a cupcake on his birthday," he replied.

"I love me a vanilla cupcake!" Pippin agreed.

"Hang on!" Sam yelled. He clumsily leapt to his feet, his face stark white. "We _have _to go back to Rivendell."

"Why? What is wrong?" Galabríawenúthien called from where she was platonically snuggling into Leggy's lap.

"My garlic press!" Sam said dramatically. "I refuse to go a step further without my garlic press!"

"Can't you use the flat of a knife?" Boromir suggested. Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"I could. If you were wanting to _ruin _the flavour of the dish! Besides, the garlic press is part of the set!" he said with horror.

"The set?" Aragorn asked.

"The set!" Sam insisted, waving a hand over his cookware. "All these belong to the NIKEA Äwoöglefruķell kitchen set! Perfect for both preparing food for guests and fighting off enemies that invade your Hobbit-hole! All of the Shire shops at NIKEA!"

The other three Hobbits nodded agreement. "Very affordable stuff at NIKEA. But don't buy the flat-pack furniture, they never include enough screws," Merry said.

"So, are we going back to Rivendell for my garlic press?" Sam asked with a demented look in his eye.

"No! Ruin the flavour of the dish if you have to but we are not trekking all the way back to Rivendell for a stupid garlic press!" Gandalf commanded.

Sam pouted but poured the dressing over the salad. "Food is ready," he said.

As everyone helped themselves to food, Gimli turned to Gandalf.

"Ihmmhmm nak mmh, mee uhin uh ong ay uuhnn!" he said.

"Why do you care about our direction? Are you a _girl?_" Boromir snarled. Galabríawenúthien's head snapped round, catching Pippin full across the face with her hair. As the Hobbit collapsed, her eyes narrowed.

"Is there something wrong with a woman's sense of direction?" she asked icily.

"Aye. Women couldn't find their wardrobes with a map," he replied. "And shut your trap, I'm sick of hearing you gabbing on!"

Galabríawenúthien burst into very noisy tears. Instantly Leggy had gathered her into his arms and glared over at Boromir.

"How could you say such a thing to a delicate creature like this lady, you pig!" he exclaimed. Merry and Frodo joined them and started to stroke Galabríawenúthien's hair comfortingly.

"Prettyful butterflies, prettyful butterflies..." Pippin twittered from where he was lying on the ground.

"Clearly Boromir has never been in Hobbiton on the day of the NIKEA Yuletide sale," Sam said.

Gandalf rolled his eyes and dug through his pack for his pipe. As he straightened up, he saw a cloud on the horizon.

"Whuh umph ha?" Gimli asked. "Huh huh clou?"

"It's moving fast, against the wind," Boromir said.

"Crebain!" Leggy and Galabríawenúthien shouted together.

"Hide!" Gandalf commanded.

"What about Pippin?" Aragorn called.

"Oh, put a cloak over him or something!" Gandalf said dismissively.

"Prettyful butterflies, prettyful butterflies!" Pippin cooed as Aragorn covered him with a cloak. The rest of the Fellowship hid under some scrubby bushes. The one Galabríawenúthien and Leggy were platonically clinging to each other underneath, magically became a rosebush and burst into full, sweet-scented bloom.

A group of crebain circled the hilltop and two fluttered down to land on the heap that was Pippin. In their claws they were each clutching a large, brown, hairy sphere that was almost as big as themselves.

"Qu'est-ce c'est?" one asked, eyeing the remains of Sam's food.

"C'est la salade de chou."

"Quoi?"

"Coleslaw."

"Ah, bien sur!"

"Prettyful butterflies..."

"Qu'est-ce c'est!?"

"Je ne sais pas! Le vent, peut-être?"

They took off. One of the brown spheres slipped from their grasp and went bouncing away into Gimli's bush.

"Ooh. Coconut," emanated from the bush, followed by a crunching noise. The Fellowship climbed out of their respective scrub/rosebushes.

"They will take news of us to Saruman. We must be many leagues from here when he finds out where we are," Gandalf said.

"They are carrying coconuts, will that make them fly slower?" Merry said.

"Well, I don't know. What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen craban?" Leggy asked.

"Mmmhmphan mmh oohoohan?" Gimli asked.

"Yes, of course, Gimli. One must factor that in," Boromir agreed.

"Why are the crebain carrying coconuts?! What is a coconut anyway!" Gandalf snapped.

"Let's just get moving!" Aragorn said quickly.

"Prettyful butterflies..."

* * *

Mirkwood, at last! Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth and patted him on his neck. They had ridden night and day across Rohan to reach the forest. Now all that was left to do was locate Radagast. Mithrandir had given him some rough directions as to where the Brown Wizard could be found.

The forest felt wrong. Evil was at work here, Glorfindel could tell. A group of bug-eyed baby rabbits were playing idly in the path, a few deer chewing grass in a dell to his left. It was all far too... cutesy.

"LETHARGIC SLOTH HANGS FROM TREE!" a voice screeched through the trees. Oh dear.

Glorfindel spurred Asfaloth forward and they charged in the direction of the voice. As they burst into a clearing, Glorfindel pulled Asfaloth to a halt and shut his eyes very tightly.

Did the Maiar have genitalia?

Radagast, stark naked and standing on his head in the middle of the clearing, most certainly did. His upside-down expression was one of intense concentration and he did not seem to notice the appearance of the horse and Elf-lord.

"ANGRY LLAMA ATOP A MOUNTAIN!" he bellowed and flipped onto his feet. He placed his palms together and stretched them above his head, balancing on one foot with an expression that could singe hair.

"Radagast?" Glorfindel asked tentatively.

"FRIVOLOUS CHICKEN PECKS CORN!" the Wizard continued and started to flap his arms and bob his head.

"Radagast, please," Glorfindel said as he dismounted.

"DELICATE ELEPHANT DANCES THE SALSA!" Radagast boomed and began to strut about. He spun on the spot and then whistled. A group of birds fluttered down with a robe of moss-green and draped it around Radagast. Actually, on closer inspection, the robe was made of a mix of moss and lichen.

"Welcome, Elf-Lord, to Radagast's Woodland Retreat. Here, you shall detox and cleanse your soul. Together let us embark on a journey of self-discovery, with only oxygen and the finest mushrooms and coconuts to sustain us!" he intoned. A squirrel dropped a mushroom into his waiting hand and he ripped a great chunk of it off with his teeth. He chewed it, a most maniac expression on his face.

Glorfindel watched as the Wizard's eyes slowly crossed and he keeled over backwards, frothing at the mouth.

"The finest mushrooms?" Glorfindel repeated. He mounted Asfaloth again and left Radagast bubbling to himself.

The Fellowship, Elrond, Saruman and now Radagast. They were running out of allies quickly.

He paused. This part of Mirkwood looked more like it was supposed to. His keen hearing picked up a sound behind him.

"_Your stare was holdin'" _

Orcs! Asfaloth charged forwards, desperately attempting to bear them away.

"_Ripped robes, skin was showin'"_

They seemed to be all around, he didn't know if he could get away.

"_Dark night, wind was blowing,"_

He burst into another clearing, saw the amassed ranks of grinning, shimmying Orcs, and knew he was lost.

"_WHERE D'YA THINK YOU'RE GOING BABY?!"_

* * *

**Oh dear, poor Glorfindel. This time I am giving coconuts for a correct derivation of NIKEA, that most famous of Hobbit shops.  
**

**_I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts, di di di di._  
**

**The coconuts will make a reappearance at some point. You gotta love a coconut.  
**

**Extra coconuts to anyone who gets the massive reference I gave to some comedy geniuses. Genii? Meh, who cares. Have a coconut. *lobs*  
**


	4. Disco in the Deep

**BREAKING NEWS! I still don't own anything. And I thought I would start answering reviews because you are all such lovely Sue-haters! ^^**

**AaylaKitofNiflheim - Thank you! I prefer to refer to her as wossherface because to pronounce her name I have to say it really slowly.**

**Vana Jedi - *rubs head* Were the words Call Me Maybe used? NO! You specified that those words were not to be mentioned, so I did not use them! French is fun, I once accidentally said that a boy got dressed with his grandparents instead of living with them. Good times.  
**

**Meepalicious - I'm sorry to inform you that the Orcs have worse numbers up their sequined sleeves! I feel bad for Glorfindel too.  
**

**trollalalala - Thank you! I'm not so much clever as possibly mad. My brain works in mysterious ways.  
**

**Beth - Thank you!  
**

**androidilenya - Poor Glorfindel, he really isn't having a good time. Anything that sings Call Me Maybe is terrifying. Especially when it is the boy who sits behind me in Maths and can't hold a tune to save his life.  
**

**Guest - Thank you! More madness is on the way!**

* * *

"I didn't know yetis lived at the top of Caradhras," Merry commented as they trudged along the path by the lake.

"Believe me, Master Meriadoc, I think they were as surprised as we were to discover them sitting in a snow drift like that," Gandalf said. He glanced over one shoulder to where Galabríawenúthien was walking with Leggy. The elleth had somehow managed to skin, cure and sew the yeti pelts into a fur coat which she was now wearing. The garment was ridiculously oversized and trailed through all the muck she walked through yet failed to pick it up, instead staying bright and white.

"Gnargh! Naa 'alls nog Mwahahia!" Gimli mumbled in awe, a finger extending through the beard to point dramatically. The Hobbits jumped as orchestral music swelled from a rock formation to their left. It built steadily into a crescendo of trumpets; culminating in the rocks springing forward and a moth-eaten red carpet rolling forth.

"I'm guessing that is where the door is," Boromir said.

"Is that so? Is it like a magic portal?" Pippin asked. He took a head-long sprint down the carpet and was only stopped from knocking himself out against the wall by Gandalf managing to hook his staff into his jacket and pulling him away.

"No! It's shut, you idiot!" he thundered. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed!"

A cloud moved from in front of the moon. With a soft _ching,_ the door became outlined against the rock in a silvery colour.

"Look, it matches your hair!" Leggy sighed, resuming in his stroking of Galabríawenúthien's hair again.

"Wow, it is very invisible," Boromir said sarcastically. Gimli and Gandalf both whirled around to glare at him.

"I was just about to explain that," Gandalf said and turned back to the door.

He fixed the runes above door with a terrifying, analytical eye. "_The Halls of Moria. Proprietor and Landlord, Durin. Cometh in for a goode time, all year rounde! Just speak friend, and enter, for the beste night of thy life!"_

"What is that supposed to mean?" Merry asked.

"We need the password to get in," Gandalf grumbled. He looked at Gimli. "Any ideas, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli shrugged, sending a boiled ham and some vegetables crashing down from his beard.

"_Mellon_," Galabríawenúthien said breathily. With a second fanfare, the doors swung open. Gandalf glared at Galabríawenúthien as Leggy and the Hobbits all clamoured to congratulate her. "You translated the runes wrong, Mithrandir," she simpered. "It should be - _say friend, and enter."_

"Come on, let's get inside," Aragorn said. "It is far too quiet out here."

He turned and scanned the large pool next to the door. It had been still, far too still, when they arrived. Now tiny ripples were making their way across the water.

The Fellowship edged slowly through the door. Gandalf pulled a small crystal and affixed it to the top of his staff, allowing light to radiate around the dark chamber.

Bodies, dressed in neon leggings and arm warmers through various stages of decay, lined the hall.

"This is no mine, it's a tomb," Boromir intoned gravely.

There was a tremendous crash from behind them. They turned to see a figure rising from the pool. It stretched out its arms towards them and lumbered forward.

"One more drink'sh, jus'ch one more, itchy bitchy drink!" it slurred, shoving the Hobbits aside brutally as it tried to get inside. It stopped and frisked itself madly. "Ma wallet! Got no money!" it wailed and then its gaze fell on Frodo knocked to the floor. Before anyone could react, it had leapt on him with a slurred "C'mon pal, gimme a bit o' gold. Just enough for an itchy bitchy drink!"

Aragorn leapt forward and pulled the... drunken thing off of Frodo.

"Listen to me!" he commanded. The thing started to protest but the Ranger gripped it firmly. "You are drunk. You need to go home!" he said fiercely. It paused and then nodded in understanding.

"OK, OK. I'll go home," it agreed and then wrapped its stinking arms around him. "I looooove you, man. You are my bestest buddy."

Aragorn patted it gingerly on the shoulder and then it staggered off back towards the water. At the edge of the pool, it turned and waved at them merrily before collapsing face-first into the water.

"That was interesting," Gandalf muttered.

"Could have been worse. It could have been some crazy tentacle thing that tried to eat Master Frodo," Sam said, waving after it. The Fellowship all chuckled to themselves.

As if that would actually happen.

* * *

Gandalf sat on the rock, his pipe in his mouth. His eyes watched _her _carefully. This was bad. Affecting the people she came across was understandable but this, this was on another level. She had completely changed an already established event. Everywhere, there were bodies of dwarves in garments of shocking neon colours. He had seen very little in the way of mining equipment, just these disgustingly coloured legwarmers and a load of empty bottles. An awful amount of empty bottles. The whole place felt like... like... one big tavern!

There was a scrabbling from below the precipice they were resting on. Gandalf peered over the edge and was relieved to see Gollum still following them. Then he heard what Gollum was muttering to himself.

"Stupid dwarveses. Why is there no handrail, my love? _Gollum, Gollum! _And the slope of these steps... Nearly tripped we did. Very unsafe, precious, very unsafe."

* * *

"Welcome to great Dwarf City of Dwarrowdelf," Gandalf announced.

"Mmhnse mmm Dunpissedin," Gimli added. The Fellowship made appreciative noises and looked around with interest. A flash of light made Gandalf look around. Merry was holding a strange, slightly smoking contraption to his eye. He grinned sheepishly.

"Just taking a few photographs. A few mementoes..." he said warily.

Suddenly Gimli roared like he was in pain and charged off into a side chamber. The Fellowship followed closely and came across a single tomb, that Gimli was now howling against.

Gandalf pulled the tatty book out of a dead dwarf's grasp, one of many in the room, and peered at the faded runes.

"_Bugger_," he read. "_Ulfri got pissed and dropped the sodding key down Khazad-Dûm. We cannot get out_."

Pippin, not particularly caring about the fate of the dwarves, was looking around the room with interest. The floor was a lovely silver material that reflected all light, including that of Gandalf's staff and Galabríawenúthien's hair. Against one wall was a very large, shiny, red button. The young hobbit edged forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Of course, he could not read the Dwarven runes carved into the wall above it that quite firmly stated _**DO NOT TOUCH!1!**_

"_They have taken the bridge and the only decent bar. We cannot get out_," Gandalf continued. He paused over the last few lines before reading them aloud, not quite believing what was written there. "_Disco. Disco in the deep…"_

Pippin pushed the button with all his might. The Fellowship jumped and drew their assorted weapons and Äwoöglefruķell cookware as, with the great clanking and whirring of gears in desperate need of maintenance, a giant ball of mithril descended from the high ceiling. The ball sent the light flashing and spinning all over the chamber as music blared down on the Fellowship from all angles.

"_Someone turn it off!_" Aragorn bellowed, clamping his hands over his ears. Pippin thumped the button again but all that achieved was the lights flashing even more viciously and if possible the music increasing in volume.

A giant fireball exploded from the tip of Gandalf's staff and flew into the mithril ball. It shattered and crashed to the floor, showering everyone with tiny shards of mithril.

"Is everybody alright? Nobody is hurt?" Aragorn asked. "Gandalf?"

Gandalf was staring at the end of his staff in pure disbelief. He would never use such a power. He did not have such a power. He lifted his gaze and a chill ran through his blood. Galabríawenúthien had a small, smug smile curving round her lips. It vanished almost as soon as he met her gaze and was replaced with worry.

"Mithrandir, are you well?" she asked, false concern laced through her voice.

"I'm fine!" he snapped and whirled on Pippin. "Fool of a Took! Next time, knock yourself out against the wall instead!"

Pippin's bottom lip started to tremble. It wasn't the only thing. Stones were bouncing on the floor. The ears of Leggy and Galabríawenúthien twitched as they heard a horrifying noise.

Disco in the Deep.

"_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk!"_

"Orcs!" Leggy snarled and drew his bow. The Fellowships closed ranks around Frodo and the other Hobbits and waited for the hordes of Orcs to burst through the door.

As the Disco crept ever closer, Boromir peeked around the door and then hastily retreated back to them.

"They have a Cave Troll," he said.

"_Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive!" _the Orcs trilled as they broke down the door. Leggy and Galabríawenúthien loosed arrows into the midst as Boromir and Aragorn charged at the Orcs. The Hobbits also charged, swinging Sting, Westernesse swords and an Äwoöglefruķell wok with a vengeance.

The Orcs hauled on a chain and the Troll lumbered through the door. Gandalf pitied it, he really did. The stupid thing was a slave anyway, it really didn't need to be stuffed into a tutu.

"This fight is hopeless!" Galabríawenúthien declared.

"I think we are going to be fine, actually. We have a remarkable track record for surviving when hopelessly outnumbered," Gandalf said as he plunged Glamdring through an Orc's glittering chest.

"No!" she cried and spread her arms. Her hair, of wilver so pure it shone in the Moria dark, began to glow even brighter and brighter! Choral music sprang from the ceiling.

"The light of Elbereth Gilthoniel!" Leggy cried. Gandalf winced and covered his eyes. The light of a decent high-shine conditioner more like. A pressure was building in his head, the light was blinding even through his closed eyes. There was an enormous crash and the light and music subsided.

"Is everyone alright?" Aragorn asked. He moved around the chamber, helping the dazed Hobbits back onto their feet. Galabríawenúthien gasped as her face turned pale. Her knees buckled but before she could fall, Leggy leapt across the room and caught her.

Gandalf stared around the room at the Orcs and the Troll lying knocked out on the floor.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn said. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We should move from this place," Gandalf said quietly. He glanced across Galabríawenúthien, still in Leggy's embrace. "I fear her evil is growing stronger by the minute."

* * *

He struggled and tried to pull himself up and over the ledge but his strength failed him. The one creature he had been hoping to be affected by her powers wasn't. Amidst all the neon and singing and empty bottles, the Balrog had still been its terrible self. Even Galabríawenúthien had fled upon hearing its growl.

They had fought and he had smashed the bridge. And now he was waiting for the fall.

He didn't see Frodo running towards him, Boromir holding him back, Aragorn standing there in shock. He only saw Galabríawenúthien. She was standing at the back of the group. That small, smug smile was there, together with an unbelievable malice and cruelty in her eyes. Just before he let go, just before he began the long plummet into the darkness of Khazad-Dûm, he saw her mouth three words that sent fear coursing through him like he'd never felt before.

"I win, Mithrandir."

* * *

**We now have a plot! *dramatic noise* A sort of plot, anyway. *Less dramatic noise***

**The only thing I am offering this time is Seasons Greetings and a very merry Christmas to you!  
**


	5. Tea With Julian

**Eep, sorry this took so long! Real life got in the way for a while and I've only just begun to get back into writing! **

**One short note, the character of Julian, which you reach him, I have pictured to speak like the comedian Alan Carr. If you want to hear him speak then look him up on Youtube. :)**

**A second short note! Warning! Here be swears and bad grammar! Tread carefully!**

**Anyways, reviews! Scroll past them if you aren't interested.  
**

**Meepalicious - Haha! No you didn't spell it right but I can only spell it because I saved it to my Microsoft Word dictionary! And Haldir is here!**

**AaylaKitofNiflheim - You forgot Merry and Pippin! :O And disco is but the tip of the Orcs' repetoire.  
**

**Vana Jedi - I like the scene. It may appear, if you don't mind.**

**androidilenya - Mwah ha ha! **

**trollalalala - She shall show her colours further here. Starting with a lovely shade of Ebony. **

**Certh - No problem! It fitted there very well!**

**GhostwriterRedux - Thank you! And I wouldn't count your Hobbits before they have eaten... Or some similar proverby thing...**

**Fayet - Thanks for the song! It shall be added to the list!**

**the Random Olliphaunt - Oh, Gollum! I am quite proud of him. And I shall add the Macarena to the list!**

* * *

In the deep dark at the heart of the mountain, Gandalf sat up and fought through the mud to find Glamdring. His fingers closed around the hilt and he drew it from the mud and scouted around for the Balrog. He jumped as a voice boomed out of the darkness, the most unlikely voice he could possibly expect.

"Well, bugger me blind and call me a nancy!"

Light blossomed in the cavern. Not the fiery light of the Balrog's wrath but a dim, yellow candle-like light. The Balrog sat up and pressed two faintly glowing paws to its forehead.

"Oooh, me 'ead!" it gasped. "What were she all about then? Her with the glittery silver hair?"

* * *

"Issa pretty wood in here!" Pippin chirped. Galabríawenúthien sighed mournfully. Her long hair had magically turned a dark ebony colour in honour of Gandalf's passing.

"It is more than a pretty wood, Master Peregrin. It is the heart of Elvendom in Arda, my ancestral home," she said.

"I thought that was Rivendell?" Aragorn pointed out shrewdly. Since Gandalf's fall, he was the only sane one left in the Fellowship. He was curious as to why he hadn't fallen prey to Galabríawenúthien's powers. It was strange.

The long dark tresses shook angrily. "It is. As is Lórien," she snapped. She paused and listened, one hand elegantly cupping her ear.

"My kin approaches!" she whispered rapturously.

"Hmm?" Pippin asked and then froze as an bow appeared next to his head.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have-" Haldir began. He did not finish the sentence however, for upon seeing him, Galabríawenúthien sprinted flat out towards him and leapt on him with a cry of "HALDIR!"

Leggy's eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip trembled as she knocked Haldir to the ground and forcibly began to kiss him. She sat up and gazed down at him with open adoration.

"Oh Haldir," she sobbed.

His own gaze was one of pure, unadulterated fear.

"Not you," he said, his voice trembling with terror.

When they eventually began to make their way onwards again, Frodo could have sworn he saw Haldir tap another Elf on the shoulder and whisper, "Run on ahead and tell Lord Celeborn: _Code Maria Susan._"

* * *

The flet where the Lord and Lady of Lórien gave audiences was strangely deserted. In fact, the whole city seemed deserted. The Fellowship had not seen any other Elves save for Haldir's company.

Until now.

A door at the top of the stairs opened and a pair of pale hands shoved a quaking Elf down towards them.

"Uh, um," he stuttered. "_Mae Govannen,_ travellers. I regret to inform you that a deadly virus plagues us. We are currently under quarantine so you will be unable to have an audience with the Lady Galadriel or the Lord Celeborn. Apologies."

"Oh! I must rush to their bedside! I shall nurse them personally!" Galabríawenúthien said dramatically and pressed a hand to her forehead. She attempted to scamper up the stairs but the Elf dodged backwards and forwards to block her path.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that. The sickness is highly contagious," he said. She narrowed her eyes and stomped away.

"Follow me! I know where we can rest for the evening!" she called angrily. As the Fellowship trotted after her meekly, the Elf laid a hand on Aragorn's arm.

"Elessar," he said quietly. "My lady desires to speak with you urgently. Come to the mallorn that stands alone in a dell by the river. Ensure that no-one follows you."

* * *

Whistling innocently, Aragorn sauntered away from the Fellowship. He hesitated as he came across the forlorn figure of Leggy sitting under a bush, a harp clasped to his cheek. A low moan escaped Leggy's throat.

"Leggy?" Aragorn asked cautiously.

"She doesn't love me," he sighed. Aragorn looked over his shoulder to where Galabríawenúthien was busy comforting a howling Frodo. "She loves Haldir instead," Leggy continued. "But he could never love her the way I do, Aragorn. My passion for her _burns_. She is my light in this dark, dark world."

"That's nice," Aragorn said flatly.

"I've composed a ballad in her honour," Leggy added. "Would you like to hear it?"

Aragorn jumped as synthesiser music pumped from the bush as an accompaniment to Leggy's plucking.

"_Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down! Never gonna run around and desert you!" _Leggy warbled.

Aragorn backed away slowly. Elves were masters of music but some people should never sing.

Ever.

"_Never gonna make you cry! Never gonna say goodbye! Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you!" _Leggy screamed after him as he legged it.

* * *

It didn't take him long to locate the mallorn.

"Pssht!" a voice hissed behind him and he turned to see Lady Galadriel wrapped firmly in her grey cloak. "Were you followed?" she said. He shook his head and she walked swiftly towards the mallorn. She pushed a seemingly ordinary part of the trunk and the hidden door swung inwards.

The room inside was not what Aragorn expected. He did not know what to expect but the dank and smelly tavern was not it. He coughed as the thick smell of pipeweed and stale alcohol washed over them but Galadriel breezed into the mire as easy as she would with any room.

"It isn't much but _she _will never follow us here," she said darkly, nodding to the landlord as she passed. Aragorn followed her to a booth at the back. Amongst the elves slumped at the tables, he couldn't help but notice a handful of drunken Beornings and Rohirrim. They were a long way from home!

"I never imagined such a place to exist in Lórien," he said, sliding into the booth.

"It has its uses. And I personally believe that every city, no matter how great, needs a good pissy bar somewhere," she explained. "Now, what are we going to do about that creature that has attached itself to the Fellowship?"

"I, I don't know," Aragorn said. "Gandalf knew but then, then he fell..."

Galadriel gave an unladylike snort and flipped a hand. "Mithrandir, always so dramatic. Don't worry, the idiot isn't dead. I'm sure he will pop up again. But, what about _her!_"

She slammed a finger onto the table top to emphasize her point.

"Where did she come from?" he asked. Gandalf, _alive?_ He dearly hoped so.

"I don't know. She just appeared one day, moping around after Haldir and making a general nuisance of herself. And then she stole a horse and went charging off towards the mountains and we thought we had seen the last of her," she said wearily. "Her mind is strange and I struggle to focus on it. There is one who could possibly know more."

"Saruman? Glorfindel rode to seek aid but..."

He faltered as Galadriel shook horribly. "Saruman's mind is tainted with both the power of the Ring and _her _influence. He is lost to us. No, I speak of another but last I heard, they were in Minas Tirith," she said thoughtfully. "We should hope that the road of Lord Glorfindel takes leads him to the White City."

* * *

A dark shadow of a figure crept between the mellyrn. It paused on the steps and watched the exchange between Frodo and Galadriel before gliding down the stairs when the duo had vanished. A pale finger prodded the water surface in the mirror.

"My lady? Are you there?" Galabríawenúthien asked breathily.

"Excuse me!" a peevish and rather nasal voice said. "I am the Mirror of Galadriel! If you want to speak with someone then I suggest you locate a Palantir!"

"Listen to me, you beaten piece of metal, do you have any idea _what I am?!"_

The small dell darkened. The vines creeping up the Mirror's pedestal withered and died and the water in the Mirror swirled into a deep dark ink.

"Uuuuuuh!" the Mirror said in a strangled voice. "I'll just see if I can connect you!"

"That is better," Galabríawenúthien said. The water cleared but the plants remained blackened and the dell darkened further as a voice boomed, "who da fuck is dis?"

"Tis I, my lady. Your loyal servant, Galabríawenúthien!" the elleth breathed. There was a small pause.

"Who?! Iz dis a prep?!" the voice demanded.

"No," she replied and then took a deep breath. "It's Silver Scarlet Hunter Drak'ness."

She hated the name her lady had given her.

"OH MY FUCKING SATAN! Konnichiwa, bitch!" the voice crowed. She winced.

"The Plan progresses, my lady. Nobody suspects my motives and I am slowly bringing everyone into our light."

"Silver?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Why do you sound like a fucking prep?!1!"

"It is necessary. To blend in," Galabríawenúthien said through now gritted teeth. "I mean, OMG, I lyk hav to otherwise da stoopid preppy elfs will find out and da Plan will fail! I mean, I have to wear deese stoopid preppy clothes. I wish Middle Earth had a Hot Topic! I want proper clothes. What you wearing now?"

It was the right move. Her lady enthusiastically plunged into a lengthy description of each of the skimpy leather items of clothing she had on and then swiftly moved onto describing what her boyfriend Drako (whoever he was, Galabríawenúthien neither knew nor cared) was wearing.

"Wow, you sound kawaii," she said eventually in a pause of the babble.

"Thnx. Now, go do ur duty!" the voice said. The dell lightened and Galabríawenúthien was left tapping her fingers against the side of the Mirror.

"Moronic Goth," she said eventually and then swept off back to the Fellowship.

* * *

The next morning, the Fellowship gathered with the Galadhrim to receive their gifts. To keep up the illusion of the "disease", the ellyn all wore cloths over their mouths and Galadriel was heavily veiled. Still, she moved down the line with her usual grace and even Gimli was still enthralled with her.

She blatantly ignored Galabríawenúthien standing on the end of the line.

"Yo, Grandma!" she snapped when Galadriel glided straight past her. "Grandma, Granny, Granny, Nan, Nan, Nanna, Nannie, Noni, Nini, Gazza, Gran, Gran. HOI BITCH!"

The hood and veils turned slowly towards her. "Is there a problem?" Galadriel asked icily.

"My present?" Galabríawenúthien returned with equal frostiness.

Galadriel fished in her sleeve and pulled out a lacy handkerchief that she threw in Galabríawenúthien's rough direction.

"Here," she said dismissively. "It shall... it shall... grant you foresight. Or something like that."

"Thank you," Galabríawenúthien said reverently, examining the lacy detailing closely.

* * *

Gandalf sipped from the china tea cup and listened to his host politely.

"...I mean, it's like this giant pressure has just lifted from me head! Ever since those dwarves came tunnelling down here, I've had this ringing and this pressure in me head and now it's just gone! Poof! I can start me life again! Get out, see a bit o' Arda, maybe take a pottery class," the Balrog was saying.

"Really?" Gandalf said.

"Oh yes!"

"Well, don't you think they might be a bit surprised to see you..."

"Call me Julian, love."

Gandalf coughed into his tea. The Balrog- sorry, Julian- was thinking hard, his head resting on a paw.

"Can I call you summat else?" he asked. "Only Olórin is a bit of a mouthful."

Gandalf shrugged.

"Randy! Short for Mithrandir!" Julian announced. Gandalf choked on his tea again.

"No!" he spluttered.

"Why not? Randy Gandy! It's got a nice ring to it!"

"No. No. And I really must get going," Gandalf said, placing his teacup back on the saucer. "Where is the beginning of the Endless Stair?"

"Next to me Home Spa and Steam Room," Julian told him, pointing. "I just installed a stair-lift for me Nan when she visits so you needn't walk all the way up."

"Uh, thanks," Gandalf said as he stood.

"Come and visit me soon!" Julian trilled after him.

* * *

**Why yes, Leggy just Rick-rolled you. :trollface:**

**To my American/maybeCanadianIdon'tknowifyouusetheword readers. I know that Randy is an actual name in the US but here in Blighty it is not a name. If you are randy then you are horny. Simple as. **

**Next time! The return of the Orcs and the fate of Glorfindel!  
**

**Until then, have a free pass to the Lonely Mallorn, the Only Pissy Bar of Lothlórien! *Onlyvalidforonedrinknotvalid duringHappyHourorduringnatio nalholidays***


	6. Sauron's Grievances

**Okey-dokey, here we go again! Hello to the new peeps that have found this small corner of madness! *waves* Instead of answering reviews I've got some other things to say. Look, a cover! Isn't it pretty/creepy? It's a picture of a mural from my school that I played around with using filters and mirror effects until I got that. Also, I lent a friend my pen-drive, completely forgetting that there was a copy of Disco in the Deep saved on it. She didn't read it but she saw the title and she was like "What on earth are you writing?" Hehe.**

**Anyways, here is a whole chapter for Glorfindel. Because the poor lamb deserves to be visited again.**

* * *

Glorfindel winced as light streamed into his tiny prison cell.

"_Good mornin', good mornin'! We've talked the whole night through! Good mornin', good mornin' to yoooooooooooooooooooooooou!" _an orc warbled as it came in. "The Dark Lord will now see you," it informed him and began to prod him with a long stick until he stood and walked out the cell.

The orcs had captured him in Southern Mirkwood and then brought him south to Mordor. He had spent the last few weeks in a dark cell in Barad-dûr wondering what, in the name of all the Valar, his fate was going to be. They had simply chucked him in this cell and occasionally thrown in coconuts to sustain him.

The inside of Sauron's citadel was very strange. Large rooms appeared to have been gutted of whatever torture machines had been inside them and were now full of mirrors and bars set at about waist-high. Lines of orcs in ballet shoes and legwarmers were against the bars, raising and lowering their legs and arms.

It was a terrifying sight.

Eventually he was prodded into a small office. The Mouth of Sauron was sitting behind a desk. It was a neatly and orderly desk, with a nameplate that said _Mouth_ and a small plaque attached to the front of the desk that read _I am here to help!_ The Mouth didn't particularly look like it wanted to help; it was too busy filing its claws into points.

"Prisoner to see the Dark Lord," the orc said. The Mouth clicked its tongue against its teeth and pressed a button on the intercom sitting on the desk.

"Glory-fondle to see you, sir. The pointy-eared Elvish bastard?" it said in a bored voice.

There was a whirring and a small opening appeared in the wall. A Palantir sat on a cushion inside, the Eye of Sauron glowing across the surface.

**I SEE YOU... **the voice boomed through Glorfindel's mind.

"The Dark Lord can see you," the Mouth translated helpfully.

**OH, SOD OFF YOU INSUFFERABLE WINDBAG. GO MAKE SOME COFFEE OR SOMETHING.**

The Mouth obediently stood up and shuffled through another door.

**OI, ELF-LORD. PUT YOUR HAND ON THE PALANTIR SO WE CAN TALK PROPERLY.**

"Uh, no thanks. I don't want you to twist my ideals and turn me into one of your puppets," Glorfindel replied nervously. The Eye rolled.

**WHY WOULD I WANT YOUR MIND? I PROMISE TO NOT BRAINWASH YOU OR ANYTHING!**

"Alright. If you promise," he said and laid a hand on the surface of the Palantir. He felt a surge of power through his palm and trembled as his consciousness was dragged from his body. Upwards it rushed until it burst forth into a vaulted room of shadow. There Sauron waited; in the form he had used as Annatar.

His eyes narrowed as Glorfindel's spirit entered.

"What the bloody hell is happening out there?!" he barked.

"I'm not sure. It is rather entertaining though," Glorfindel said to irk him.

"It is not entertaining! Look at my soldiers! I slaved for hours to make them into a worthy dark rabble and look what has happened!" he howled. The floor rippled and an image spread forth like a reflection in a pond.

It was one of the many rooms Glorfindel had seen on his way to the office. These orcs were not raising their legs up and down against a bar however. They were encircled around a particularly foul-looking Uruk standing on a chair.

And by foul-looking; a nauseating, putrid, pungent, revolting Uruk. Glorfindel was completely relieved that he could not smell him through the Palantir.

He was caked in mud, or possibly excrement, with plants and moss actually growing out of him. And the singing...

It was possibly the worst that Glorfindel had ever heard.

_"The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Toxie! The Uruk raking in the bits is gonna be Toxie! I'm gonna be a celebrity! That means somebody everyone knows! They're gonna recognize my eyes, my hair, my teeth, my plants, my toes!"_ it was howling.

Glorfindel could not bring himself to look at Toxie's toes.

"You really think that that is natural?" Sauron asked drily.

"No," Glorfindel admitted. "Uruk-hai do not usually have plants growing out of them."

"You test my patience, Elf-Lord," Sauron growled.

The vision slid sideways to another room. This one had very little light, save for a single lantern in the centre. The orcs wore black cloaks over their golden tunics and shimmied everywhere around the chamber at random, sending small rays of golden light bouncing around the room.

"_You show the lights that stop me turn to stone! You shine it when I'm alone! And so I tell myself that I'll be strong! And dreaming when they're gone_!" they trilled completely out of tune.

"You might want to invest in a vocal coach," Glorfindel said. Far away, he felt the Palantir grow hot under his hand as Sauron's rage slowly rose.

"Who is doing this?" Sauron growled.

"I think you know," he replied. "I know you have been watching the Fellowship. You know who is doing this."

The floor rippled again and the Fellowship swam into view. They were camped out by a river, all looking extremely miserable as they sheltered in their cloaks. Except for Galabríawenúthien. A small ray of sunshine was managing to shine on her face and she was bone-dry whilst the others were soaked through. The ray of sunshine still managed to follow her even as she moved around the camp.

"She is the source of this evil," Sauron said darkly.

"Agreed. She isn't one of yours?"

"Of course not! Why would I create anything that annoying?"

"So... how do we get rid of her? The Wizards are useless. Do you have anything that could help to defeat her?"

"No. No thing. But I know of someone who could possibly help us."

An image formed for the final time on the flagstones. It hovered above the city of Minas Tirith before diving like a bird of prey and zooming through the streets. Into the archives it shot and focused upon the Keeper of the Archives. She was a woman, stooped and haggard with age, with a squint of the severely short-sighted and an expression that could singe hair.

"I have been watching her for some time," Sauron said thoughtfully. "She appears to be just an ordinary woman but she knows more than one would expect and she occasionally mutters to herself in a strange and crude language I have never heard before. She may know some answers. Then again, she might just be a crazy old lady."

"Fine. I will go and speak to her," Glorfindel said. "Just one more thing, if I may ask."

"If you must."

"Why are we talking through the Palantir? Do you not have a physical body?"

Momentarily, an expression flashed across the Dark Lord's face. Was it... sheepishness?

"My current form is terrifying. It would blow your sanity out as easily as blowing out a candle," he said flatly. Glorfindel's eyebrows raised but he did not challenge the lie. Let the Dark Lord have his little secrets.

* * *

The Black Gate creaked open slowly just wide enough to allow Asfaloth and Glorfindel through. The Elf-lord reined in his horse and looked over his shoulder into the depths of Mordor. He was one of the few beings ever to be allowed to freely ride out. He turned to the front again and his eyes took in the band of orcs merrily painting the Black Gate a lovely fuchsia colour.

Asfaloth began to walk forward and Glorfindel sighed. He didn't exactly want the Land of Shadows to return to normal but surely anything would be better than this.

* * *

The small fluffy white bunny hopped out of one of the many rooms of Barad-dûr and peeked carefully from left to right. Its velvety nose twitched nervously. Nothing. It made a break for it across the tiles.

"ERMAHGERD! BUNNY!" a voice screeched. Frammit.

The bunny was unceremoniously scooped up and squeezed against the orc's chest. It was petted hard and gave the orc an enormous kick in the ribs in an attempt to get away.

"He's ticklin' me! He wuvs me!" the orc crowed in delight. "I will name him George and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him and pat him and pet him and rub him and caress him!"

The bunny began to tremble with anger.

_**GEORGE?! **_**SHE-ELF, YOU SHALL RUE THE DAY YOU FORCED ME INTO THIS PATHETIC FORM! **it screamed.

"Come on, George, let's find you a hutch!" the orc warbled. It happily carted the squirming bunny towards its quarters, not realising in the slightest who happened to be in its arms.

* * *

**OK, sound can't be transmitted through Palantiri but let's ignore that, shall we? Allow me that one uncanonical detail. That one in the many in here...  
**

**Next time, the fate of that other favourite of the LOTR fan-fiction author - _The Girl in Middle Earth..._**


	7. The Girl in Middle Earth

**Welcome back to the madness! Mwahahaha! Review time!  
**

**trollalalala - I had to look the Mice and Men reference because I actually first saw it in an old Looney Tunes cartoon. And it is a favourite quote of my dad's for when we have a watermelon to cart around. (The full extent of my dad's madness will be revealed when Shadowfax makes his debut. *Ominous music*)**

**androidilenya - Yay for crazy old ladies! I love crazy old ladies!**

**Meepalicious - Ah, the bunny. Go back and find who else speaks like the bunny. It will turn up again in later chapters if you still can't get it. :D**

**Certh - You really want one? I wouldn't trust it!**

**the Random Olliphaunt - Ah, the crazy old lady. I know her very well, as you will shortly find out.**

**assymetricalreapertrash - Hello! Thanks for finding this little piece of madness so funny!**

**So, I have a little confession to make, guys. A secret I'm not very proud of. So here we go.**

* * *

_Once upon a time there was a young girl who liked to pretend that she was a cat with bronze fur. And this girl loved to read and loved to write stories about her favourite characters. The absolutely best thing to do was come up with new characters! There was always someone, a girl obviously, missing from the story that gave the tale a certain... something. So she quite happily slapped them straight into the narrative. Legolas' younger sister (inexplicably also Galadriel's granddaughter and inexplicably also called Arwen) or Aragorn's daughter Aragwena (she was possessed by the spirit of Sauron and her name was a mix of her parents'- SO CLEVER!) or The Other One. The One known only as Healer because her real name would implode the entire works of C. S. Lewis._

_No, seriously. If the name is written then- KA-BLOOIE*! All future generations will lose the ability to walk repeatedly into the backs of wardrobes in the hopes of discovering a magical land. Nobody wants that. _

_These characters were so utterly amazing that the girl wondered why there weren't more like this. Then she discovered Twilight and spent a few years worshipping the stupid sparkly vampires and professing her love for men several centuries older than her but frozen in time. She still contemplated the others, the ones she invented. They were really amazing characters, in her opinion. And their stories were amazing too._

_But then the young girl grew up. And she learned what a fool she had been; that these stories didn't need any additional main characters and if she really wanted to introduce one then she should keep them away from the main narrative. And that Twilight was badly written rubbish._

_Yet nothing is so easy. One day she awoke to discover herself in a strange land. With glee, she realised that she was in Middle Earth. Excited, she set off to enjoy the story she knew so well to the fullest. What a surprise she was in for..._

_This is the fate of the Girl in Middle Earth._

* * *

Asfaloth cantered easily into Minas Tirith. Glorfindel kept his hood up as they navigated the streets of the city. He was unsure as to how common a sight Elves were in the city and he did not want to make a spectacle of himself.

With little difficulty, he found the Hall of the Archives and he ventured inside.

The Archives were kept in a high and draughty hall somewhere on the fifth level. It was impossibly dusty and dark inside.

"Hello?" he called into the mess of papers and manuscripts. There was a clattering from up above and suddenly a basket dropped from the ceiling. The Keeper of the Archives was sitting in said basket and she looked as irritable as when Glorfindel had seen her in the Palantir. He looked up and saw, in the dim light, a system of pulleys and ropes spanning the roof of the chamber. Very neat, it eliminated the need for ladders. The Keeper could pull herself to the height she needed and manoeuvre herself around as she pleased.

"Well? What do you want? I haven't got all day!" she barked.

"I want some information," he said. She snorted and clambered out of the basket.

"Of course you do. Everyone wants bloody information when they come here, that is why we have archives."

She picked up a lantern and hobbled off into the depths of the Archives. Glorfindel paused and then hurried after her, scared he would lose her amongst all the mess.

Eventually they reached a small desk. She sat behind it and motioned for him to take the seat opposite.

"What type of information can I do you for?" she asked.

"There is a troublesome maiden..." he began and hesitated in the brain-frying glare she directed at him.

"If you are having woman troubles then don't come to me!" she said and reached for her inventory.

"No, you do not understand! She is changing the very nature of the places and people around her!" he exclaimed. Her pen juddered to a halt on the page and she squinted at him.

"Is she the most beautiful maid you have ever set eyes upon?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, yes! Her hair is like soft waves of moonlight, her eyes gateways to paradise, her figure the epitome of feminity-" he began to babble and then slapped a hand over his mouth in horror.

The Keeper glared at her and then burst into a high-pitched keening laughter. She rolled in her seat, tears streaming down her withered old face until she eventually slid off her chair with a thump.

"Oh my days, that is the funniest thing I have heard in many a year," she said merrily from under the desk. She clambered back on to the chair and leered at Glorfindel in a way that made his blood run cold. "Elf-Lord, you have yourself a Mary-Sue."

* * *

The Fellowship were sitting moodily at their final camp before they left the Anduin. Frodo gave a heart-felt sob and raised a large spotted handkerchief to dab at his eyes. Aragorn ignored him. He had been doing it on and off ever since Gandalf's death.

Boromir laid a hand on the Hobbit's shoulder. "Don't dwell on your sorrow," he said softly. "The pain shall pass eventually. Gandalf would not want you to be like this."

There was a loud cough and he looked around to see Galabríawenúthien standing over them. She reached in a sleeve and produced a scroll with a flourish.

"You are not on Ringbearer-comforting duties this week Boromir! You are on firewood! See!" she said and shoved the scroll in his face. He snatched it off her and produced a delicate pair of pince-nez to read with.

"_Ringbearing - Frodo Baggins... Cuisine- Samwise Gamgee... Haircare- Leggy... Firewood- Boromir," _he read. "Fine. I shall go get firewood them, seeing as how I can't offer words of comfort."

He stood and stomped off into the woods next to their campsite.

"No... no, I cannot mope here!" Frodo exclaimed. "I am off to mope elsewhere."

He followed Boromir into the woods.

Aragorn had ignored all of this. Until the scroll was thrust in his face, that is.

"Aragorn!" Galabríawenúthien snapped. "You aren't fulfilling your designated tasks!"

He focused on the piece of parchment. _Aragorn- Leadership and Brooding about Kingly Destiny_.

"Brooding?" he asked coldly. She nodded.

"Yes, brooding. Sit and stare moodily into the distance as you contemplate taking the throne of Gondor and all the consequences that comes with it. And I suppose you can ponder the implications of loving my sister while you are at it."

"She's not your sister," he muttered as she walked away.

He reached for his pack and dug around for his pipe but as he did so his eye wandered around the camp and fell on Sam. His mouth fell open.

The Hobbit sitting before him was not the obese monstrosity that had accompanied the Fellowship thus far but the slightly portly and intelligent-eyed young fellow he had met in Bree. He was glancing around nervously at the others and trembling uncontrollably.

"Sam!" Aragorn hissed. The Hobbit jumped and then shuffled over to the Ranger as quickly as possible.

"Aragorn! What is happening? We got to Rivendell and Mr Frodo had been summoned to the Council and I was going to follow, not meaning no 'arm or disrespect, when suddenly everything went black! Then, it wasn't me controlling my body! I've been shouting and fighting for weeks but it seems like I only just got through!" he gabbled.

"Yes, Sam. I fear that dark forces are affecting the Fellowship from within and we must-"

He was cut off by a shriek from Galabríawenúthien and his hand went instantly to his sword, terrified that the full extent of her wrath would be released upon them. But she wasn't sprinting towards them, eyes blazing in anger.

"The Handkerchief of Foresight!" she screamed and, pulling it out with a flourish, draped it over her eyes. "Something terrible is going to happen!" she said ominously. "The Handkerchief shows me death..."

The proud, brassy note of Boromir's horn rang through the trees and the Fellowship leapt to their feet.

"Sam, find Frodo!" Aragorn yelled as he sprinted for the woods.

There was a steady rhythm beating its way through the trees. **Boom Boom Clap! Boom Boom Clap!**

As he neared, he heard the terrifying mess spewing from the mouths of the Orcs.

"_You got blood on yo' face, you big disgrace! Waving your banner all over the place! We will, we will, rock you!"_

Oh dear.

It was catchy though. Unusual for the Orcs.

He charged into the middle of them, his sword cutting through limbs and sequins galore.

When he at last found the poor body of Boromir, he fell to his knees. He clasped Boromir's outstretched hand.

"What is happening?" Boromir asked. He was not the oafish pig anymore. The dying man before Aragorn was a great warrior and a noble man. The man he should be.

"It's her, isn't it? I could feel her in my mind. Twisting me," he said. Aragorn nodded. "You must not let her destroy my City. Please Aragorn," he whimpered.

"I promise, Boromir."

* * *

"So that's it. The Fellowship is broken," Frodo said heavily. Sam was relieved to discover that his Master was once again the sober-faced middle aged Hobbit he knew and loved and not the cutesy thing that had carried the Ring from Rivendell. Together they had crept down to the boats and were now making their way across the river towards the Eastern bank. They both agreed it was for the best.

"Maybe, Mr Frodo," Sam said. "But we will keep going; we'll see this job done."

Neither of them noticed the pair of luminous eyes rise slowly from the waters of the Anduin and watch them carefully as they arrived at the far bank.

"Sailing, with no lifejackets? Oh dear, oh dear, precious. Most unsafe. Whatever will we do?" the mouth belonging to the eyes burbled and then the head vanished back beneath the water with as much noise as it had come.

* * *

"And there you have it," the Keeper finished. "Everything you could possibly know about Sues."

Glorfindel shifted in his seat. "How do you know all of this?" he asked. She fixed him with a piercing eye that only had a slight hint of madness. She leaned forward in his seat.

"Because I know who makes the Sues," she said. "What would you say if I told you that I was not born in this world?"

He blinked, his face completely blank, and she started to gabble in a strange and crude tongue, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Eventually she switched back to a tongue he recognised.

"Oh, I had a good life in my old world. A nice house, great friends. When, all of a sudden, I woke up in a field a couple of miles from Bree! Imagine my delight to find myself in this wonderful land! I couldn't wait to find the Elves; to explore Arda; hey, even maybe get to Éomer before Lothíriel! A teenage fangirl can dream. But nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ! I dropped in forty years before he was even born! And I did not speak a word of the Common Tongue and the only Sindarin I knew was _Mae Govannen._ Big help. I got a minor job in Bree; learned the lingo; made my way to Minas Tirith and I've been here ever since," she said. "It's been an interesting life. But I've had plenty of time to study the Sues and I know all about them. We shall get rid of this plague... or die trying!"

There was silence in the Archives.

"Well, OK. Not dying. The Sue is the only one who is going to die. Preferably in fire. And lots of it," she snarled.

* * *

*Ka-blooie - (KA-BLOO-EE) A technical term for complete and utter implosion of a literary world due to the meddling of a Sue. The destruction you have witnessed at the hands of Galabríawenúthien is the sort of meddling that would ultimately result in Ka-blooie if allowed to run unchecked.

* * *

**So there you have it. In case it wasn't obvious, I am the crazy old lady. If I fell into Middle Earth and got old. And I used to write the most god-awful Sues imaginable. It's not really that much of an excuse but I was _really _young when I did and I truly did not know any better. Thank goodness the stories aren't uploaded anywhere.  
**

**I still have The One's fic on my hard-drive. I go back and laugh at it every now and then. **

**So, you have two choices this time around. Firstly, you can describe what would happen if _you _landed in Middle Earth. And please be realistic. I can count on one hand the number of times I have ridden a horse so I know there is no way in hell that I would go sprinting for Rohan and nab a horse. And anyone who marries a major canon character will be forced into a one hour ballet class with the Orcs.**

**Or, CONFESS! I have confessed to writing Sues and I cannot be the only one! Tell us about the worst Sue you have written, intentionally or unintentionally! **

**Until next time!**


	8. Handses, String, Knife or Nothing!

**Oh thank goodness, I'm not the only one who has written bad Sues. I am so relieved! On another note, I don't think I should watch bad X-factor auditions on Youtube while writing this. It gives me too many ideas.**

**Also, it is 2AM here and I'm tired so I am shortening pen-names where I can.**

**Meepalicious - That's me! In all my, uh, senility. 0.o The years in Gondor weren't good to me. **

**androidilenya - Hobbits are a nice people. Strangely, I've never written a Harry Potter fanfic, despite being a massive fan of the books. Part of the Goblet of Fire was even filmed in the gorge beyond my house (it was a two second background shot but STILL!)**

**Aayla - You want to cook for Hobbits and you say you don't have lofty aspirations? You must be an excellent cook! :P And about the characters... *shuffles feet* uuuuuuh, Sam is staying! For the forseeable future! I think...  
**

**Olliphaunt - I love Gollum! I think he is my favourite character in this!**

**asymmetrical - Thank you!**

**Certh - *coughs suspiciously* Yeah, about the characters, uuhhh. Sam is staying for now! And Boromir, although he is dead! And you made a twin for Galabríawenúthien! Elrond has some explaining to do, he has way too many daughters running around!**

**Wolf - Uh, thank you? I'm taking this as a compliment. :S**

**DecoraRae - I like that plan! And seriously, work on a fic and then take the plunge and post it. There are some wonderful people here who will give you lots of help if your OC does happen to be Suish.**

**trollalalala - Thank you!**

**LiteratureCat - Hello, fellow Cat! Glad you liked it! :D**

* * *

Aragorn pushed Boromir's funeral boat out into the waters of the Anduin with tears in his eyes.

"He shall be missed," Leggy announced from behind him.

"Mmhm," Gimli agreed. Aragorn gritted his teeth. Despite Sam and Boromir returning to normal, his other companions were still their irritating selves.

As the boat swept away down the river, a lone figure in a golden sequined tunic rose from the bank downriver and cleared its throat.

"_Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed bonny booooooooooooooooooooat like a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiird on the WING!" _the orc screeched.

"Oh, kill it! In the name of all the Valar, kill it!" Aragorn roared. An arrow flew from Leggy's bow and with a strangled cry, the orc flopped forwards into the water.

He turned back to his companions.

"Frodo and Sam are gone! We don't follow them, they are on their own path now! We must find Merry and Pippin," he said firmly. "We cannot leave them in the hands of those creatures." He glared at the body floating in the river.

"Let's hunt some orc!"

* * *

"Pip, Pip! Are you OK?"

"I think so. What is wrong with the orcs?"

"I don't know. They can't sing a note to save their lives."

"Maybe we should show them how it is done, eh Merry?"

"...No, Pip. Let's just focus on staying alive. Wait, what was that?"

"_Ye can tak oor lives, but you cannae tak oor freeeeeeeeedom!"_

"Oh dear. Pip, I don't think our troubles are over yet."

* * *

Frodo and Sam lay very quietly and still at the foot of the cliff. They could hear a most troublesome pest approaching, a pest that had dogged them for many leagues.

"This is most tiresome, precious. There is no proper paths, no proper signs. We would get horribly lost, if not for the precious, wouldn't we my love?" Gollum crooned as he crept towards them. "We shall set everything right. Everything shall be safe," he continued, stretching a hand towards Frodo.

Within a few minutes they had him trussed up and were examining him critically.

"Where do you think he found the pin-stripe suit?" Sam asked.

"We wanted to wear proper clothes! We felt naked, precious, and it was unsafe for us to traverse the rough terrain in what we wore before!" Gollum moaned.

"And you thought a pin-stripe suit and a briefcase were better choices?" Frodo asked.

"We were hard-pushed and the gentleman's outfitters we visited did not stock mountaineering gear, did it my love? No, precious, it did not!"

Sam picked up the beautiful leather briefcase and shook it cautiously.

"What have you got in here?" he asked. Gollum immediately turned furtive.

"Do not ask us, not its business," he muttered. Sam opened the clasp and reached a hand inside.

"Some string, a knife," he said, pulling them out and handing them to Frodo. "An empty bag labelled _Nothing _and what's this at the bottom?"

He suddenly dropped the bag and wiped his hands quickly on his trousers. "You animal! Where did you get them and why would you have them!" he yelped. Gollum looked affronted.

"One never knows when we might need a spare pair of handses," he said loftily. Frodo decided he really didn't want to look in the briefcase now.

* * *

The Three, sorry, the Four Hunters sat on a hilltop and waited. They had been waiting for the past hour.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Leggy asked. Galabríawenúthien reached into Gimli's beard and pulled out a battered script. She flicked through it and then pursed her lips.

"_Four Hunters run into Rohan. Four Hunters hide from eorlingas. Aragorn hails the leader and the Riders encircle them. _You are then supposed to have a short conversation with their leader Éomer in which he tells us that Merry and Pippin are apparently dead-"

"Spoilers! Do not want!" Leggy screamed, pressing his hands to his ears. She ignored him.

"He then gives us some horses and we continue on," she said and rolled the script up again.

"Hrrh mrrate," Gimli grumbled as she pushed it back into his beard. Aragorn stood and stretched.

"Well, we've waited long enough for them," he said. "We know what direction to take so let's get started."

They walked over the next hill to where the smoking bonfire of orc corpses lay. Even as Aragorn noticed the strange scores in the ground that told Merry and Pippin's story, Galabríawenúthien sprinted for the trees screeching that the Handkerchief of Foresight had told her that they were in danger. They followed her rippling white dress as closely as they could through the misty forest until Gimli nearly crashed right into her as she knelt behind a tree.

"The White Wizard," she breathed and pointed a beautifully manicured finger.

"Let's kill him!" Leggy hissed and Gimli nodded grimly.

"Wait a second, I don't think we should just attack a Wizard with no plan-" Aragorn began but the other three charged off without listening.

He waited. There was a small ching like a blade being drawn from a sheath and then a bright flash of white light. Gimli flew backwards and crashed into a bush.

"It's me you morons!" a voice yelled. A very familiar voice.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, stepping around the tree. The Wizard was standing on a small knoll with a furious expression on his face. He was also dressed in skin-tight white jeans, an open-necked white shirt and his beard had been cropped close to his face. "You... look different," the Ranger said helplessly.

"That is because I am no longer Gandalf the Grey, I am now Gandalf the White!" he crowed.

"You look fabulous!" Galabríawenúthien gushed. Gandalf's face fell slightly.

"Fabulous? Alas no, that title still belongs to Saruman even if his heart has shrivelled and turned from good."

He looked down sadly and then raised his head and beamed brightly at them. "Never mind! I'm back now, so let's shake a leg and go right some wrongs!"

"What about Merry and Pippin?" Leggy asked as they trotted after him. He stopped, causing them to crash into one another.

"Merry and Pippin... Merry and Pippin..." he said thoughtfully. "Oh, _them! _Don't worry about them, they are perfectly safe! Now come along!"

Aragorn's heart sunk. What on earth was wrong with his old friend?! After Galadriel's words in the tavern, he had had an inkling that Gandalf still lived but he was appalled that his friend's character had been changed so.

Appalled that is, until Gandalf half-turned and surreptitiously winked at him, a cunning and familiar smile curving around his mouth. Hope bloomed again in his chest as he realised that it was act, although he could not divine the reasoning behind it.

* * *

Frodo read once more through the document and then slid it across the rock to the waiting Gollum. The creature dug in his briefcase and produced a pair of cracked spectacles which he balanced on the end of his nose and surveyed the parchment before him.

"_We, Gollum and Sméagol, being of unsound minds and body, do solemnly swear that we are up to no good," _he read. Sam immediately bent over the document.

"Read it properly," he snapped. Gollum pulled a face.

"_Being of unsound minds and body, do solemnly swear to follow Messers Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee and facilitate them whenever they need. We shall guide them and find paths for them and we shall not attempt to throttle them in their sleep. We swear this on the Precious, which is more precious to us than life itself. _Yes, everything seems in order. We agree to this," he said. Frodo slid him a pen and he scrawled a G and an S at the foot of the parchment.

Sam snatched it away from him and examined the signatures critically. "Well, I still don't trust you. But you've given us your word and if Mr Frodo trusts you then it is good enough for me."

"Lead on, Gollum," Frodo said. Sam sighed and began to fold the contract to stow away in his pack. He paused and unfolded it again, staring in wonder at the back of it.

"Mr Frodo," he said slowly. "The map of a castle has appeared on here!"

* * *

**So, you have to reach into Gollum's briefcase and pull out one of his objects. Do you get the knife, the string, the bag of nothing or the handses? Or are you lucky enough to get his glasses? :D**

**Until next time, which is going to take a while because I have to think up something for the Ents.**

**And the Rohirrim are going to take me forever.**

**Why do I do this to myself?**


	9. Ach, Crivens, Help Ma Boab!

**Good day, good day to you all! Guess what, I still own nothing! The weather forecast is predicting that this chapter contains swears. But most sad of all, NOBODY WANTED THE STRING, PRECIOUS!**

**Meepalicious- I fully agree with Merry and yourself and apologies for the mental pictures of Gollum's fashion sense. XD  
android- Poor Aragorn indeed. And I love Gollum, poor lamb. With his suit and briefcase.  
Olliphaunt- Watch yourself with that knife, precious! And you are going to love this chapter! :D  
asymmetrical- I like some of them, and I've got a great idea for one of them in particular, so thanks!  
trollalalala- Thank you, precious. We tries, we tries. Gollum is one of our favourite characters so we is glad we sound like him!  
Scylla's Revenge- They will be making fools of themselves, have no fear!  
M.H.T- NOES, do tell, do tell! My worst Sue was a Narnian one and I told!**

**Warning, you are about to experience the madness of my father. It will be explained at the end.**

* * *

The Four Hunters and Gandalf, now garbed in a grey poncho, emerged from the trees of Fangorn, squinting against the sunlight.

"Hang on a mo, lemme summon the old mount," Gandalf muttered and then threw his head back and gave a wild screech.

The answer was not the whinny Aragorn was expecting but a... a... a squelch. Yes, squelch was probably the best onomatopoetic term.

A shadowy lump galloped over the hill and reared impressively in the sunlight.

"That is one of the _lembas, _or my eyes deceive me," Leggy breathed.

"Don't you mean _mearas?_" Aragorn began to ask and then the thing cantered closer. It was two giant slices of white bread, each roughly the size of a carpet, stuck together with a sticky brown substance and balanced on four stumpy legs.

"Peanut-Butter-Sandwich," Gandalf announced, reaching out a hand to stroke the top slice of bread. "He's the King of all Carbohydrates."

PBS squelched happily under Gandalf's touch. Gandalf climbed on and arranged himself cross-legged on PBS's back.

"Onwards!" he trilled, pointing into the distance, and PBS galloped off obediently.

"Gandalf, we have no horses!" Galabríawenúthien shouted. "We never met Éomer!"

"Not my problem, bitch!" came the reply. "You got legs, use 'em!"

They looked at each other in horror and then broke out into a slow job so as not to lose the sandwich and its rider.

Eventually, after much clanking and wheezing from Gimli, Edoras loomed in the distance.

"I should probably warn you that Théoden is completely batty. In his senility, he has taken advice from Saruman of all people. I want you to all stay out of it while I'm trying to reason with him," Gandalf said with a sidelong glare at Galabríawenúthien. She narrowed her eyes but nodded in acceptance.

Aragorn's hopes grew slightly as they rode through the city of the Horselords. It seemed to be no different than when he was last in Rohan. A lot more ginger hair than he remembered but that only seemed a small detail.

All hopes were dashed as they approached Meduseld and were met by the doorward, Háma.

"Ah'mafraid ye cannae see the Big Yin wi' aw them chibs, ya ken?" the doorward barked at them. The five cowered back and form a tight circle.

"What did he say?" Leggy whispered.

"Was it even the Common Tongue?" Galabríawenúthien asked. "I say we kill them all for treachery, they have clearly joined Sauron!"

"Now, now, mass genocide seems a bit of a rash option. I think he merely requested that we leave our weapons at the door..." Gandalf said. Aragorn edged slowly out of the circle and carefully placed Andúril on the table next to the door.

"Aye, geez aw!" Háma leered. The other three Hunters quickly threw their weapons in the rough direction of the table leaving Gandalf still clutching his cane.

"And the staffie, ya ken?" Háma asked. Gandalf hit him round the head with it.

"Fools! Never separate an old man from his walking stick!" he declared and then strutted straight past and through the doors.

"Hola, Théoden! I'm back!" he sang. The old man in the throne grimaced and tried to burrow further down into his furs.

"Nobody's home!" he called in a doddering old voice. Gandalf tutted.

"Now, now Théoden! I realise you are cut up about the death of what's-his-face but you can't mope in here forever! Get your glad-rags on, we're hitting the bright lights of Minas Tirith! You, me and Denethor, just like the old days!"

"Noooo, don't want to," Théoden moaned and pulled a fur cloak over his head. "Gríma, deal with the Wizard, would you?"

"At once," a slippery voice called. A snake wound its way up the throne and stared at Gandalf. "Ahh, the Stormcrow. Nice poncho, what back street of Bree did you buy it in?"

"Gríma! You look a little different than when I last saw you! Last time you had legs! And arms!" Gandalf said happily. He glared over his shoulder at the others, who took the hint and shuffled into the hall behind him.

"I felt restricted with appendages, this new form is so much more, ah-hm-hm, flexible," Gríma said, sliding down the throne and across the floor.

"Eeww," Leggy moaned, dancing backwards so the snake didn't cross his boots.

"Fore!" Gandalf cried and swung his staff. It connected with Gríma, lifting the snake and sending it flying through the air.

"You morons! I told you to take the Wizard's staff!" it screamed before it slammed into the wall. Thugs appeared from no-where and advanced menacingly on the Hunters and Gandalf. Galabríawenúthien charged straight at them, limbs flailing madly; Gimli used his beard as a lasso to trip them; Leggy screamed a war cry and then promptly missed the thug he was aiming for and Aragorn? Aragorn fixed the thug coming at him with a glare so terrifying that the thug decided that thuggery wasn't for him after all. His sweetheart's family owned a bakery in Dol Amroth. It was a good time to go into the bread-making business.

"Well, that was pointless," Gandalf said eventually. The thugs all lay on the floor in a daze. The Wizard turned his attention back to the King. "Come on Théoden, stop your moping!"

"He is mine, Gandalf the Grey! You shall never have him! Rohan is mine!" the King giggled in an unnatural voice.

"Och, crivens! The Big Yin is gie'in me the heebie-jeebies!" a voice cried. Gandalf stalked menacingly towards the throne.

"I am no longer Gandalf the Grey!" he declared and threw off the poncho. The effect was ruined slightly by the poncho becoming tangled about his head but eventually he threw it on the floor and faced the King triumphantly in his white shirt and trousers. "Shazam!" he yelled.

Théoden's eyes glazed over and then he slumped forward. His hair shifted from white to a bright ginger and he raised his head, a strange fire burning in his eyes.

"Aye, ah'm feelin' braw noo!" he cried, getting to his feet.

"That's nice," Gandalf said encouragingly.

* * *

Merry and Pippin sat on tree roots in the depths of Fangorn.

"Sooooo, you are an Ent, you say," Merry said politely to the being in front of them.

"Ent?! I am no Ent! I am a tree!" it bellowed. Pippin snorted and covered his mouth with a hand. "I am Treebeard!" it continued. It appeared to be a giant who had chosen to wear a toga comprised entirely of leaves, in addition to the expression of the completely ape-shit.

"And what are you?" it shouted, prodding Pippin suspiciously. Pippin batted the finger away quickly.

"We are Hobbits," he said hastily. "We live in cosy holes, we like good food, we like to sing-"

"SING!" Treebeard yelled. "Orcs! Orcs like to sing!"

"Oh, well done Pip!" Merry said disparagingly. "We're not Orcs!"

Treebeard's eyes narrowed. "I must consult the brethren! Come little Orcs, the Most Worshipful Brethren of the Tree-Huggers awaits us!"

* * *

Aragorn slipped out the door of Meduseld and walked around the side of the building to where the figure in white waited. They stood together for a while, enjoying the evening.

"That was quite a little show you put on in there, my old friend," he said eventually. Gandalf grumbled to himself.

"When I passed through Lórien, Galadriel encouraged me to wear this disguise to throw off Galabríawenúthien."

Aragorn looked the ensemble up and down critically.

"She had downed a few in the Lonely Mallorn at the time," the Wizard admitted. He wriggled. "These trousers are criminally tight. They chafe somewhat."

"What are we going to do about the Rohirrim?" Aragorn asked, not particularly wanting to know about Gandalf's chafing.

"I'm not sure. Hope that Éomer is himself, I guess. Have you seen Éowyn yet?"

Aragorn shuddered in horror. He had been introduced to a lovely young man with one of the finest moustaches he had ever seen. Upon discovering that it was actually a women, specifically Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan and niece of Théoden, he had been forced to refrain from screaming. Galabríawenúthien was an evil creature indeed if she turned one so fair into one so twisted.

Oh and speak of the she-devil and she shall make her presence known. They could see her below with Leggy. Her love for Haldir was clearly completely forgotten because what she and Leggy were doing together could in no way be classed as platonic. Aragorn felt like gagging.

From where they stood, they could also see all the way across the Plains of Rohan and Gondor to Mordor. The red light of Orodruin still burned in the night, telling them that the true evil of Arda was still waiting for them.

* * *

The bunny legged it through the gate of Barad-dûr and sped towards the Fuchsia Gates.

**SO LONG, SUCKERS, I'M OFF TO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN MAKE SENSE OF ALL OF THIS!** it howled.

From behind it, a forlorn cry rose from the orc quarters of the citadel.

"George, noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

* * *

"_ELF-LORD!"_ the Keeper screeched. Glorfindel dropped the scroll he was holding and sprinted through the aisles of the Archives.

They were researching the many defences and back-ways of Minas Tirith.

The Keeper didn't tell him why they had to do this but she insisted they had to. He wanted to go to Lord Denethor and warn him of the perilous situation of the Sue but she had hit him around the head with _A Complete and Thorough Analysis of the Comfort Factor of Gondorian Armchairs. _It hurt an awful lot; the Gondorians had a surprising amount to say about armchairs. When his ears stopped ringing, he decided he would do as she said.

The Keeper was sitting cross-legged atop a pile of books, her eyes shut and her fingers pressed to her temples.

"There is a disturbance in the Force," she said ominously.

"What does that mean?" he asked. She often spoke cryptically like this.

"It means: what the fuck has she done to Rohan?!"

* * *

**Soooo, about PBS. Picture the scene. Myself, aged eightish, sitting watching The Two Towers for the first time with my Dad. When Shadowfax appears onscreen, my Dad languidly points in the direction of the television and says quite calmly, "It's not a horse, it's a Peanut-Butter-Sandwich." In the decade or so that has passed since then, I have never heard him refer to Shadowfax by name. He always cals him Peanut-Butter-Sandwich. And you wondered where I get my madness from... :D**

_**The author pauses in her writing and turns to see her half-decent OC, Ailith, dressed in full Shieldmaiden battle armour and glaring at her. "Can I kill her?" she asks. "Sorry, Ailith sweetheart. I think she's too strong for you," the author replies sadly. Ailith's eyes shift skyward. "Are you aware that the words **_**SHAMELESS PLUG FOR OTHER STORIES**_** are flashing above your head?" she asks.**_

**Rohan is one of my favourite countries in LOTR so it was quite difficult to write this, even if I did have fun looking up the Scots. **

**So question, what do you want on your lembas? :D I'd like cheese and coleslaw. Can't go wrong with cheese and coleslaw.  
**


	10. Cissies and Stew

**I'M BACK BITCHES!**

**Well, I never actually left. I've just been hanging around over in the Narnia section for a few months. :D Enjoy the new chapter and sorry about the wait!**

* * *

The Grey company stood respectfully by the grave of Théodred, surrounded by weeping Rohirrim. As the body of the prince drew level with them, Éowyn stepped forward, tears dripping off xer moustache, and opened xer mouth.

"_Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling," _xe sung in a manly baritone.

"Oh, in the name of all the Valar," Aragorn muttered. His mood was further darkened when a veteran appeared, pumping and blowing into a strange bag. A low throbbing sound rose and then a terrible wailing rose over the top. And it was _loud!_ Deafening, even! Aragorn would have stuffed his fingers in his ears except he would have thought it very rude. The Rohirrim were all bawling their eyes out and blowing their noses on giant tartan handkerchiefs.

"Gandalf, what do we do next?" he said.

"Try to snap Théoden out of it. If we can get him, we get all the Rohirrim," he answered grimly.

His eyes strayed to Galabríawenúthien. What he could see of her; she had found some great black veil from some back room of Meduseld. It swamped her from head-to-toe and hid her from the world. What was she thinking, Gandalf could not help but wonder.

The crowds began to dissipate. Aragorn and the others followed them up towards the Golden Hall leaving Gandalf with Théoden. The King stood for a few moments by his son's grave. Pearly tears began to roll down the ginger beard.

"Ach, he were me only wean..." he sobbed. Gandalf patted him on the shoulder.

"There there. We'll sort this out and everything will come up roses," he said.

Galabríawenúthien walked along outside the Golden Hall, her urple eyes gazing at the setting sun. She stopped and snorted. What to do, what to do. She had not expected Gandalf to show up again. This could throw everything off. She knew that Aragorn had escaped her, as had the Hobbits. Would the Hobbits still be under her control? Sam was the most worrying. The others weren't as important but that one had a real and very worrying heroic streak. If she was going to continue, she needed more resources.

She sat down and pressed a hand to the ground. She wormed her fingers into the earth and breathed in deeply. A smile curved around her face. Oh yes, she knew what she needed.

* * *

"Greetings, fellow Brothers of the Most Worshipful Brethren of the Tree-Huggers!" Treebeard bellowed. The others nodded and shook their leafy tunics in greeting. "May I present Meriadoc and Peregrin, Orcs who claim they are not Orcs!" Treebeard continued.

Pippin waved at them cheerily. A smallish Brother with holly leaves tied in his hair waved merrily back only to receive a withering look from the other Brothers.

"The Brethren shall decide if they are truthful or not! Come, let us consult our great master!" Treebeard proclaimed.

He turned and, as one, the Brethren marched to one end of the grove and prostrated themselves on the forest floor.

"O Great and Mighty Tree, envelop us in your branches and show us the path to light," they intoned.

The tree they were addressing was not particularly magnificent. Even the ones to either side of it were so much grander and healthy but this one had the face. An ugly and crude face had been drawn inexpertly on the bark in chalk.

"Merry, are they worshipping a tree?" Pippin hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"I think so, Pip," Merry hissed back. He folded his arms, his mind ticking over. "Pip, I think we can use this to our advantage," he muttered. "They worship a tree? Will, I think their god should speak to them."

Pippin turned to his cousin with a cheeky grin. "Master Brandybuck, could you possibly be referring to the Incident of the Terrible Haunting of the Great Smials?"

"Indeed, Master Took, that I am."

* * *

The bunny hopped slowly through the undergrowth, fuming to itself. **THE SUE SHALL PAY!** it raged. Pausing to scratch itself fervently, it gazed around the landscape. Ithilien was really quite boring. It made a mental note to improve it dramatically when everything was back to normal. Yes, a little fire everywhere would spruce things up nicely.

It heard a clanking in the distance and crept towards the noise. Its nose twitched with delight as it espied a certain Hobbit lying against a rock. The Hobbit moved and the bunny saw the flash of a chain in the sunlight. _Perfect!_ He had the Ring! If the bunny could only get a paw on it, it could end this whole bloody charade!

A stick cracked behind it. **OH NO, NOT YOU! **it squealed as Gollum bore down on it.

"Find us dinner, find us dinner, who does the Fat One think he is?" Gollum was muttering. He grabbed the bunny and brutally snapped its neck. "He wants dinner? Nice bit of rabbit for the Fat One then."

He failed to notice the screaming black spectre rise from the body and streak off to the East as he carted it back to the camp.

"Look precious! We found you food!" he said happily, throwing the carcass at Sam's head.

"You monster! Look at it, it was someone's pet!" Sam gasped, shaking the fluffy whiteness at Gollum. The creature shrugged.

"Not our problem. Stupid girlies should have kept it locked in the hutch," he said dismissively.

Sam inspected the bunny. He was certain that it had been someone's pet. No wild rabbit was so plump or had such clean white fur. Still, it was dead now and a source of perfectly good meat. He skinned it and it was soon simmering away in the beginnings of a stew. But Gollum was now determined to _help_. He sat breathing down Sam's neck and made suggestions on how to improve the meal. Also whenever Sam turned away he kept trying to taste it.

"Fat One, we are certain that this stew does not meet Food Industry Hygiene Regulations!" Gollum insisted, grabbing the pot for the tenth time.

" Food Hygiene what?! Why are you so annoying?" Sam snarled as he snatched the pot back. He glared at Gollum before handing Frodo a plate of stew.

"And why are you not a cissy, precious?" Gollum retorted.

"A cissy?!" the Hobbit yelped.

"Yes, precious, a cissy! We were reliably informed that the Fat One was a cissy with a homosexual lusting for the Master, weren't we my love?" Gollum announced. Frodo choked on his stew.

Sam was speechless. His mouth opened and shut noiselessly.

"I do not have homosexual lustings for anyone!" he said eventually. Gollum sniffed and went back to scuffing in the dirt.

"Not what we heard," he said, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to retort but before the words could leave his mouth, a loud coughing and choking made him spin around.

Frodo was on his hands and knees, his face purple as he coughed.

"Mr Frodo!" Sam cried and rushed to his Master's side. He didn't know what to do! Any thoughts on how to save a person from choking completely vanished from his mind and he was left completely helpless.

With a terrible rattle, Frodo flopped forward and was still. His skin paled and turned cold to the touch, his fingernails lengthened and his cloak bloomed with darkness like an ink-drop in water. He began to breathe again, a peculiar rasp. He sat up slowly and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam asked nervously. The shadowy hood swivelled towards him, a pair of red eyes glowing in the depths beneath.

"Mwahahaha, I am Evil!Frodo!" he shrieked and collapsed into a high-pitched cackling.

Gollum and Sam looked at the stew pot.

"Bad stew, precious," Gollum said sympathetically.

* * *

**"Xe" and "xer" are used to mean he/she in the Universal Mary Sue Litmus Test. I thought it appropriate for poor Eowyn.**

**I write as someone who has been in a choir trapped next to twelve bagpipes in a confined space. You do not know the meaning of the word "loud" until you have been in those conditions.**

**Oh, and Sauron isn't dead. Frodo just ate his physical form. Man, imagine how this would have turned out if Gollum was the one to slay Sauron? O.o**

**Also, I wrote a short parody for _The Hobbit_ called _A Moose's Tale_ and I would much appreciate it if you would head on over and have a peek at it. It was supposed to be uploaded when I passed 100,000 words in my fics but I forgot about it and it sat on my hard-drive until today when I saw it, read it, sniggered at it and decided to bite the bullet and upload it. So go take a looksie please! **

**Anyways, see you next time, which hopefully won't be in three months. *cringes***


End file.
